the itsy bitsy spider goes to grad school

Today in class, we were having a good conversation about civil discourse.  My students had just completed a writing and responding activity that allowed them to see layers of communication that can develop as a subject is publicly discussed, and they were able identify the mostly civil and few less-than-civil comments.  We were connecting this to an article they had read and some issues on campus, and, well, the point is that we were immersed in a good class discussion.

And then it happened.

One group of students froze, all intellectual activity ceasing.  A spider had appeared on the wall in front of them.  As my entire class moved over to the other side of the room, I dealt with the spider.  And it struck me how some moments shake the layers off us and make us simply humans, together in the same space.

When I was in graduate school, the conversations at grad student table were about posturing.  People talked about which scholarly theories they were studying, how those theories informed their teaching decisions, which people around the table were most marginalized by society.  (I was always assumed to lose that contest.  I was straight, white, and engaged--nothing out of the ordinary about me at all--until I pointed out that at that particular table filled with people who identified as "other," with African-American, gay, divorced, and single, I was the one who was marginalized.)  It was all about being perceived as intellectually worthy.  Even talking about teaching issues that didn't incorporate theoretical persectives was considered mundane.  When I mentioned that I was working with a student who was homesick or I could understand how some of our students embraced world views different from those of us around the table, I could see the eyes roll and hear the deliberate attempts to change conversation.

Then one day I was in the grocery store (how mundane of me!) and ran into a grad school colleague, one of the ones who was the least tolerant of non-intellectual talk at the grad table.  And what do you know, we were both buying Lucky Charms!  We ended up having our first real conversation, about concrete real life stuff, there in the cereal aisle, debating the merits of Lucky Charms vs. Count Chocula.  Somehow, being in the grocery store acknowledged that no matter what our intellectual bent, we were still two humans in bodies that needed regular care and feeding.  It was triumphant moment somehow.

Watching my students cling to each other with their feet curled up on their chairs this morning reminded me that sometimes we just need to let go of the layers and the artifice and remember that we're all in this together and that there is comfort in that.